


Everything Changes

by Dani



Series: Everything Changes [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dani/pseuds/Dani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On December 8th, 1980, a former Beatle was gunned down in New York, and everything changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**Author's Note:**

> 1- I would just like to Thank Nikki for all the work she put into this story. I definately couldn't have finished on time without her help.
> 
> 2- I would just like to note that I don't own or know any of these people, this story is made up of lies on a whimsy of 'what if'. Even if I did know these people in real life, they would not be the same as the characters within the story because these characters have all been changed due to the differences caused by the event which makes this an AU. In short, please don't sue.

Chapter One

 _Happiness is a Warm Gun_

 

            It was strange, just the two of them, again. For the first time in over a decade, they had no wives to keep conversation flowing, no children to coo over – even Julian, who had functioned as a buffer for most of the trip, had run ahead, anxious to see if anyone had turned in his camera at the desk. So it was just John and Paul walking the streets of New York, shoulders hunched, both completely conscious of all the things they needed to say but neither finding the words. Occasionally glances would be shared, but immediately averted, eyes cast downward.

            It was the first time in over a decade that these men could talk and neither had a thing to say.

            As they continued to walk, the silence grew heavier and more foreboding – a tangible figure between them, drawing them further and further apart.

            Finally the Dakota came into view. John quickened his pace slightly, anxious to return to the superficial normalcy his wife and sons created. Paul lagged just a step behind, taking in the bustle of the street.

            “Mr. Lennon!  Mr. Lennon!”

            Was that a gun?

 

            John was turning when a force slammed into him, pushing him backwards. As each shot rang out, John felt the impact through his chest: a burst of pressure with each one.

A moment passed, empty, without thought or feeling.

            When John came back to himself, he was staring into the most beautiful eyes in the world. For the first time in over a decade, John held Paul’s eyes just inches from his own.

            Paul’s fists were twisting in the fabric at John’s shoulders, and those eyes of his were filled with pain, but looking for something in John’s eyes. It was something they hadn’t shared in far too long.

            Licking his lips, Paul croaked, “All right?”

            John didn’t know; he couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t think beyond the fact that Paul was with him again, really with him. John nodded once.

            A small smile crept onto Paul’s face; his eyes beginning to cloud. “Good,” he whispered.

            For a brief second, John thought Paul might kiss him, as Paul’s head fell forward, but it landed just to his left side.

            He could feel Paul’s hair tickling his nose, Paul’s tears on his cheek, Paul’s breath in his ear.

            “Fuck, this hurts,” Paul hissed, more to himself than to John.

            Hurts?

            All at once, the world came into focus. John could hear the anarchy that had descended after the shots had been fired. Cars speeding past, violence erupting around the gunman, screams – countless screams – filling the air.

            One scream in particular stood out in John’s mind: it was the closest, the loudest, and the most heart-wrenching of sounds.

            Jules?

            “ **PAUL!  PAUL!!** ” Julian’s screams were soon right above them. John could see him now, tugging at Paul’s shoulder, rolling him off John and onto his back. John hadn’t noticed Paul’s weight on top of him until it was gone, leaving him bereft.

            “Paul!” Julian shouted, pressing his hands onto Paul’s chest.

            Paul looked up at Julian with eyes glazed over as though he’d had _entirely_ too much pot, and a big grin on his face.

            “Hey, Jules,” he said, as he’d done countless times since Julian was a child.

            Then the light in his eyes faded away.

            Paul McCartney was dead, and John Lennon couldn’t breathe.

 

            It was Ringo who told Linda.

            Francesca had phoned him and told him Paul was hurt, so he naturally called Linda, not realizing he would be the first to get through.

            “Hello?” Linda sounded distracted, but not upset.

            “Linda, it’s Ritchie.”

            “Oh, hi! I was just getting the kids ready for school. Can I call you back after I drop them off?”

            “Er…” Ringo cleared his throat. “Have you talked to anyone today? Or seen the news?”  He forced his voice to remain steady.

            “No, just you. Why?—Oh, hold on.”

            He heard her calling to Heather to get Stella off the counter before she fell and killed herself.

            “Sorry about that. Now, what were you saying?”

            Ringo cleared his throat again, and anxiously twisted the phone cord between his fingers. “Lin, you may want to sit down.”

            “You’re starting to scare me, Ritch.” Her tone was light, but there was a frisson of fear to it.

            “Lin…something happened in New York. I’m not sure of the details, but on the news they said that John, Paul and Jules were all taken to hospital. Some people are even saying…they’re even saying that Paul is dead.”  His voice broke.

            There was complete silence on the other end of the line.

            “Lin?”  Ringo switched the phone to his other ear. “Linda? Are you still there?”

            He heard a sharp thud on her end. In the distance, he could hear Linda talking.

            “All right, we need to go to school.” The thought occurred to him that she sounded dead, herself.

            “But, Mum—”

            “Now, Stella.” Her tone refused any arguments.

            A far-off door slammed, and Ringo considered hanging up, but was stopped when a small voice came on the line.

            “Hello?”

            “Heather?”

            “Ritchie?”

            “Yeah.”

            “What’s going on? Mum went completely pale and then dropped the phone. She didn’t hang up, she just let it slip out of her hand and walked away…I’ve never seen her like this.”

            Ringo’s stomach turned. It had been hard enough telling Linda; now he had to tell one of the _kids_ – sweet, delicate little Heather, no less.

            “Heather, luv…something happened in New York.”  He swiped his free hand over his brow and drew in a long, slow breath. “Your dad; he’s…” He couldn’t say it. Not again.

            He didn’t need to.

            “No,” Heather denied. “You’re lying.”

            “Heather—”

            “Dad is fine! You’re lying!” He could hear the sobs rising in her throat, despite her defiance.  “ _Fuck you!_ ”

            “Heather, stop it!” he snapped, hoping to pull her out of her spiral.

            “What are we going to do?! What are we going to do without Dad?”

            “Heather…” He softened his tone now, pleading with her.

            “Ritchie, we can’t do it without him! We can’t!”

            “Listen, Heather. Just stay put for now. Barbara and I will be on the next flight to you. We’ll be there by dinner time, and we can figure out what to do from there. Once your mum gets back, stay inside until we get there, all right?”

            It was a sign of her state of mind that she gave in so easily. “But, my sisters,” she said, almost as an afterthought, “they’re at school now...”  Her thoughts were too scattered to put together fully. She trailed off.

            “I’ll get someone to pick them up. You lot stay inside and whatever you do, don’t talk to the press.”

 

            “Hullo?” George hated waking up early, especially to the shrill sound of a ringing phone. He spoke as if his mouth were full of gauze, and made it clear he was none too pleased.

            “George, thank God!” came the frantic voice on the other end.

            “Cyn?” He sat up quickly.

            “I can’t get through to anyone! Ritchie isn’t home, Linda isn’t answering, the hospital isn’t answering their phones at all! I can’t find out anything except what I hear on the news!”

            “Cynthia, what are you talking about?”

            A sob. “Paul’s dead, Julian is in hospital, John and Yoko are the only ones with him and nobody is _fucking_ telling me anything!”

            George had always heard that surprising news could literally make your jaw drop; but he’d never really believed it until the moment he noticed his own mouth hanging open.

            “Uh.” His mind had gone completely blank.  Paul, dead?

            “I can’t even get a flight to New York! ‘It’s too short notice’, they tell me, so Jules is alone and I can’t get to him!” She was breathless.

            George pushed thoughts of Paul out of his head. He needed to focus on Cynthia and Julian right now.

            “I can go to Jules. I can charter a plane.”

            It was settled before George had even gotten out of bed. The plane was called, the arrangements made. Then George padded out of his bedroom and down the hallway towards the sound of the television.

            “Eye witnesses say that this is where the gunman stood, awaiting the former Beatle,” a pretty blonde gestured behind herself.

            Olivia sat watching; her pallor rendering her skin nearly translucent. The only sign of life was when she clutched Dhani closer to her chest at the haunting sight of the crime scene.

            “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked her in a tone that could seem like disinterest, but was actually reflecting the numbness which had overcome his senses since the phone call. Numbness, which kept him upright and moving.

            Olivia lowered her eyes, brushing a kiss on Dhani’s brow before answering. “I couldn’t bear to.”  Her voice was so small.

            “I’m going to New York.”

            “I know.”

 

 _“Sir, can you tell me your name?”_

 _He was fading in and out. He could see in flashes before everything became dark again.  He could still hear, though._

 _Fingers wrapped cloth around his arms, pushed into his chest._

 _“His pulse is way too fast; we’re going to have to use a stronger sedative.”_

 _“Sir, can you tell me your name?”_

 _“P . . . Paul?” he croaked._

 _“Quiet, he’s trying to say something!  Sir?”_

 _“Paul.  Where’s Paul?” he gasped into the darkness._

 _“Sir, we need you to tell us your name. Can you do that?”_

 _Name?_

 _He struggled to think, but it was like his head was filled with cotton balls. All that came to mind was Paul, and the light going out in his eyes._

 _“He’s dead, isn’t he?” His face felt wet. He couldn’t understand why._

 _“Sir, you need to calm down or you could go into cardiac arrest.”_

 _He was choking: choking on the knowledge that Paul had left him._

 _“Nothing’s working. We need to get his blood pressure down.”_

 _“I’ve got an idea.”_

 _There was a pause, some rummaging, the sound of something being fitted inside something else, and then a click. After that, there was music._

 _“Well, she was just seventeen. You know what I mean…”_

 _The tightness in his chest loosened. He could feel the air moving in and out of his lungs._

 _“Paul,” he breathed, feeling his mind start to drift into sleep._

 _“Sir, can you tell me your name?”_

 _“John Lennon.”  And then nothing._

 

            He awoke in a dim room with a steady beeping in his ears. For a brief moment, he could almost hear the melody of Blackbird overlaid on the high-pitched, steady note.

            “Water,” he whispered, his throat parched.

            “Oh, you’re awake.”

            He turned to see Linda slumped in the chair beside him. She looked as awful as he felt.

            Thoughts of water forgotten. “What are you doing here?” He felt agitated. Angry. He was unsure how much sense he was making.

            She seemed to understand, though.

            “The general consensus was that neither Julian nor you should wake up alone. George is sitting with Jules. Yoko had to go take care of Sean. Heather and Ringo were exhausted, so I volunteered to sit with you so they could rest. I wasn’t going to sleep, anyway.”  She huffed in annoyance. “Of course, you weren’t supposed to wake up for another ten hours or so. They gave you enough sedatives to tranquilize an elephant.”  She looked at him as though he’d woken up just to annoy her.

            John felt his back tense in fury. “So sorry to be a bother,” he sneered.

            “Fuck you. I don’t need to deal with this shit.” Linda stood up and stormed out of the room. He heard shouting in the hallway, and then George came rushing into the room.

            “John!”

George, quite uncharacteristically, nearly jumped on top of him in an effort to pull him close. John grasped his arm as he felt George kiss the top of his head, pulling his legs up on the bed to lay at John’s side.

            “You had me scared shitless, you fucking bastard,” George breathed into John’s hair. “I couldn’t bear to lose both of you. I just couldn’t.”

            That was more than George had said to him in over ten years, all at once.

            “Paul…?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

            George squeezed him tighter. John could feel tears falling on him. “He’s…”

            “Gone.” John’s voice felt hollow.

            He felt George nod, after a moment, and heard him say in a voice half-strangled, “Yeah.”

            They laid there for hours as the machine continued its incessant beeping. In John’s head, Paul’s ghostly voice filled in the lyrics. “Blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night.” Beep, beep, beep.

 

            “Can’t sleep?” Heather asked at Julian’s bedside.

            “I’ve been sleeping for three days.” Julian felt restless, as if ants were crawling under his skin.

            Heather flipped the page of her gift shop novel, and forced a little smile. “You probably needed it.”

            He let out a small huff. “You know, I wasn’t actually hurt, and Dad wasn’t, either; at least not that badly. They just kept sedating us so we would stop freaking out.”

            Heather laid her book down gently on the hospital bed. A seriousness had descended over her; and by extension, the whole room.

“Were you freaking out?”

            Julian couldn’t look at her. “Yeah.” He swallowed.

            She leaned forward. “What happened, Jules?”

            He could hear his heart beating in his ears as his mind went back to that terrible place. “I don’t know,” he said, quickly.

            “Jules, no one is telling me anything. I need to know how my father died,” she pleaded, taking his hand in hers.

            Julian closed his eyes, the whole event blurring past under his eyelids. “It was a shitstorm.” He breathed deeply and steadily to try to keep the rising panic from overpowering him.

            “What happened?” she prompted.

            Julian wet his lips. “Shots. Louder than I’d ever heard. When I got there, Paul was covered in blood and lying on top of dad. I…rolled him over. Blood was everywhere.” He swallowed a rising sob. “He looked at me, and he smiled at me, and he…said hi to me. And then he died.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then opened his eyes.

            Heather’s tear streaked face mirrored his own. A silent moment stretched between them.  “Thank you,” she finally whispered, squeezing his hand again.

            They sat in silence, letting their tears dry on their cheeks, both lost in their own minds.

            “Wanna go get drunk?”

            The question snapped Heather back to reality as she tried to process it. “But…we’re underage,” was all she could manage.

            Julian raised an eyebrow, though his voice was still a little dull and lifeless. “I’m Julian Lennon and you’re Heather McCartney. Do you honestly think anyone will refuse to serve us this week?”

            Heather nibbled on her thumb nail as she glanced nervously towards the door.

            “We don’t have to if you’re too scared,” Julian teased, though sincerely offering her the chance to say no.

            Resolve replaced fear. “Let’s go.”

            “You sure?”

            “Yeah.”

            Julian grinned. “All right. Pass me my clothes.”

 

            Ringo handed the small paper cup of coffee to George. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep? I mean, even Linda agreed to try.”

            George’s lip quirked. “I’m fine, Ritch,” he repeated for what seemed like the millionth time. “Just need some coffee and I’ll be able to last another 12 hours at least.”

            Flopping down beside George on the stiff waiting room chairs, Ringo sprawled outward, resting an arm on George’s. “How are you holding up?”

            George looked as though he was just going to answer with a glib, “Fine,” but reconsidered after catching the concerned look on Ringo’s face. “I’m…I don’t know. I’ve just been going from one thing to the next and I haven’t had time to stop and really realize what’s gong on.”

            “It’s shit,” Ringo grumbled, slouching lower. “I called Barbara earlier, the kids are a mess. Mary hasn’t spoken one word since Linda and Heather left, and Stella…Stella’s just pissed right off. She’s lashing out at everyone about everything. She smashed her milk glass on the floor because it wasn’t cold enough and when Barbara sent her to her room, she shattered her entire record collection.”

            George shrugged loosely. “At least James…you know. He doesn’t know.”

            Sadness overtook Ringo’s features. “You’re right, he couldn’t. He’s just a baby.”  He rubbed a hand over his face, seemingly awestruck at the thought. “He probably won’t even _remember_ Paul.”

            There was a silence between them for a long moment.  Then, “You’re right,” said George.  “It’s shit.”

 

            John woke to the feel of lips kissing his knuckles, and long hair he’d know anywhere ticking his arms.

            “Yoko.”

            “Hello, John,” she whispered, her voice watery.

            John opened his eyes to look at the love of his life. She was beautiful. Light was shining off her hair, and her eyes sparkled like grass after a rain fall. John had a small smile on his face as he waited to feel the tidal wave of love that he always felt in her presence. It was a feeling for which he would give up anything. Forgive anything.

            The smile slowly slipped from his face as the feeling didn’t come. She looked the same, but he felt nothing.

            _She would never die for me_.

            He buried the thought almost as soon as it occurred to him, but that didn’t make it any less true to his mind.

            The joy over his survival dimmed on her face; as though she could sense something was different and deeply wrong.

            “How’s Sean?” he asked, cringing at the croak in his voice.

            Yoko squeezed his hand, as if trying to _keep_ him. “He’s sleeping right now. Linda agreed to stay with him overnight.”  She kissed his hand again. “He misses his Daddy.”

            “Remember when Sean was born and Paul came to visit?” John asked, lost in thought.

            “Yeah,” she prompted, cautiously.

            He carried on without really hearing her. “Why didn’t I let him hold Sean? I mean, he’s my best mate. What the hell was I thinking?”

            Yoko pulled back slightly. “You said that Sean was ours and you didn’t want to share him.”

            “But it was Paul.”

            “Especially with Paul.” Yoko’s voice was small, bordering on meek.

            John didn’t notice. “I mean, what the _fuck_ was I thinking? I care about Paul more than anyone in the world; I should have let him hold my baby.”  He was so lost in his own regrets that he barely registered Yoko releasing his hand and leaving the room.

 

            For George, the world was filled with mist. It was moving slower and was harder to navigate. He would remember to breathe in but forget to breathe out until his lungs screamed at him. He was moving from place to place, holding people at the right moment, talking to doctors, making sure Linda ate or Sean had a sitter so Yoko could visit, but it was like someone pressed the ‘slow motion’ button and even the smallest tasks took titanic effort. He was numb, though, and as far as George was concerned, that lack of feeling was worth the increased effort.

            Every once in a while, a stray thought would shatter his haze and leave him gasping at the force of the blow. A pretty nurse had walked by and smiled at him. He’d smiled back, thinking, _if only Paul could see her,_ and then it hit him like ice water, chilling him to his bones.

            He would force himself to breathe, pushing down all his feelings into his own personal Pandora’s Box. Then the fog would return and he could keep moving, keep breathing and be the person everyone needed him to be.

            It was only John who managed to draw George out of his cocoon and even then, it was only for a moment. Once the initial joy had passed, the real world returned. Paul was dead and life was unbearable in the face of that. Then George would need to remember to breathe again.

            Ringo was silent beside him, having long since abandoned the effort required to speak. It was Yoko who finally broke the silence, slipping out of John’s room and gliding towards them.

            She broke down in the chair across the aisle.

            George watched her with complete detachment as tears streamed down her face.

            “What’s the matter, luv?” Ringo asked, leaning forward and taking her hand.

            George leaned back, not wanting to be involved. He never particularly liked her anyway.

            “I’ve lost him,” she whispered through the tears. “No one can compete with a martyr.”

            Ringo looked at George, silently begging for guidance.  George felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. With John in hospital and Paul gone, he supposed he was in charge, now. Ringo was waiting for him to take over.

            He didn’t really like Yoko, but in this moment, she needed him.

            He slipped across the aisle and took the vacant seat beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her shoulder. “It’ll be all right, love,” he whispered into her hair before laying a kiss on the top of her head.

            She buried her face in his shoulder, soaking his shirt with her tears.

            Neither acknowledged the lie.

 

            _Heather met Julian when she was 7 years old. Her dad had brought her along to Cynthia’s house after she and Mummy had moved into his house._

 _He was nervous. Heather could tell because he was tapping everything…more so than usual. His knees were shaking a bit and he kept retying his neck tie. Also, Mummy kept touching his arm and telling him not to be nervous._

 _“I’m not nervous,” he snapped back at one point. After a guilty pause, he added, “…Sorry.”_

 _“It’s all right that you’re nervous. She’s like a sister to you. All I’m saying is that I don’t think you need to be.”_

 _Her dad took her mum’s hand and said, “I know.”_

 _It was raining when Heather met Julian. He had a big black umbrella and met them at the gate._

 _Her dad had knelt on the wet cement so he could be eye to eye with the small blond boy._

 _“Hey Jules,” he smiled, pulling the boy into a hug. “How are you?” The question was asked in the voice he used when he was really listening._

 _“I’m doing all right, Uncle Paul.” Julian had a slight rhotacism, making him sound even younger than he was._

 _“Is your mum inside?”_

 _“Uh-huh.”_

 _Paul stood up and tugged Heather forward. She had a pink umbrella._

 _“Jules, this is my daughter, Heather.”_

 _Julian stared at her. She stared back._

 _Paul cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, uh, Jules...I was thinking; why don’t you show Heather your house while I talk to your mum?”_

 _Julian shrugged and started walking across the grass to a small structure in the yard.  Prompted by a gentle push from Paul, Heather followed._

 _It was a nice house: it even had comfy chairs that were just their size in Julian’s room, into which the two of them nestled after a brief tour._

 _“So, Uncle Paul is your dad now?” Julian asked once they were settled._

 _“Yeah.” Heather picked at the arm of her chair, unsure of what to say._

 _“But he didn’t used to be?”_

 _She bit her lip. “No. I had a different dad, but now my mummy is married to Paul and he’s my daddy.”_

 _“So you’re Heather McCartney now?”_

 _“I guess,” she mumbled._

 _In a voice far older than his years, and with a solemn shake of his head, he said, “Welcome to Hell.”_

 _Heather looked at him, fear shining in her eyes. “What?”_

 _“You’re in for it now. Ladies are gonna yell at you and your mum in the street; might even attack you. Kids’ll tease you all the time because your dad is famous and the only people who are nice to you are only nice because they want to meet him. You can’t trust anybody.”_

 _Her eyes filled with tears, warm trickles tracing lines down her cheeks. Seeing this, Julian reached out and took her hand._

 _“Don’t worry though, kiddo. You and me, we’re in this together, now.” He smiled._

 _Heather squeezed his hand, wiping her face with the back of her other hand. She felt better. In that instant, she believed him and smiled back._

 

            Julian was right: no one checked their IDs. No one even expected them to pay. Every time he walked anywhere near the bar, someone else was offering to buy them drinks.

            Heather sunk a little lower on the over-plush couch, watching Julian laugh as he swept seamlessly through the crowd.  Unlike Julian, Heather wasn’t having any fun. If anything, being here made her feel worse. It was dark and loud, people were _far_ too close for comfort and everyone seemed to want to talk to her.  She took refuge in the corner as soon as she could get free.  Fear clawed at her insides, made worse by the knowledge that her dad, her protector, was gone forever.

            Julian seemed to be looking for her: asking random people and pantomiming her height and long hair. Heather wrapped her arms around her torso and made herself smaller. She just wanted to hide until everything went back to normal: until her world was safe again.

            He finally spotted her and grinned, pushing past the dancers and minglers, trying to get to her.  Tightening her arms, she tried to control the rolling in her stomach.

            “Hey, Heather,” Jules breathed in her ear, face flushed with alcohol and good spirits. “Dance with me?”  He offered her his hand.

            She stared at the hand, then shook her head frantically, her eyes burning from all the smoke in the air.

            “Heather?” he prompted, this time taking her hand in his.  His voice was gentle and pleading.  “Dance with me. Please?”

            Something in his voice, the feel of his hand, a voice in her mind’s eye: _“You and me, we’re in this together.”_ Heather sighed – imperceptibly in all the noise in the atmosphere – and nodded.

            The jovial grin returned to his features as he pulled her to her feet and spun her on to the dance floor, then smoothly wrapped his arms around her waist.  Resting her head on his shoulder, she swayed with him to the music.

For the first time since her dad left for New York, she felt safe again. 

 

* * *

 

Linda could hear the voices beneath her. People laughing and talking, telling stories that had been told a million times but seemed to have greater significance now. She could hear George welcoming people into her home, her two girls parroting greetings to relatives and friends that they had never met. Music was playing softly below the din. Every once in a while she would hear a turn of phrase in her husband’s melodic voice and shudders would overtake her.

This was very likely the most well-attended party of all their parties. Rock legends from all over the world had cancelled concerts in order to attend. Movie stars had flown in for the occasion. Anyone who barely had brushed with Paul at any point in their lives fought to gain entrance. Those who couldn’t get in circled the walls and gates, like peasants storming the castle of an unjust lord.

            It truly was the best party they’d ever thrown, and Linda couldn’t bring herself to attend it.

            Like a child, she was hiding up in her bedroom; closet doors barring out the entire world. She just sat there in the dark; the burn of whiskey in her throat, and the smell of Paul still present in every piece of fabric around her.

            She hadn’t truly slept since it happened. Hadn’t wept, either. She had gone through the motions: retrieved the body, like a good wife. She’d prepared the food, dressed the girls in near identical dresses (Mary in green, Stella in blue). She had even greeted the first of the guests. George and Ringo had arrived early to find all the preparations done, all the food set out – after all, she had needed something to do while the rest of the world dreamed.

            But now she couldn’t face it: couldn’t face all the people, couldn’t face the fact that this was real and he was truly gone.

            Ringo had looked on sympathetically and George reassuringly as she made her escape. They probably thought she was sleeping right now. They had no idea that Paul hid the liquor in old shoe boxes to keep it out of reach of the little ones.

            Linda took another long swallow before resting her head on the wall behind her, feeling reality swirl around her with detached amusement.

            Light invaded her shelter, making her cringe and hide her face in her knees.

            “Linda.”  It was Julian, using his cautious voice: the one he used when approaching crying children and wounded animals. “I was just…that is—”

            “For God’s sake, Jules, close the door,” she rasped, hating the feeling of the outside infiltrating the warm, comfortable nest she’d made for herself.  Jules stepped inside awkwardly, pulling the door closed behind him.

            “Can I…um,” He sounded so lost that Linda nearly smiled.

            “It’s a free carpet.” She patted the space beside her. “Go ahead and sit.”

            Jules shuffled down the wall, trying to find a comfortable spot amongst the clothes and mementos from another life.

            “Want some—” she offered the bottle, before pulling it back quickly. “Wait, how old are you?”

            “Seventeen.”

            “Well, that’s all right, then.” She handed the bottle over.

            Julian took a swig and passed it back. “Are you planning to stay here all night?”

            “Yup.” Another mouthful.

            “Hm.”  Julian slouched a little lower. “It’s quite a party. Paul—” he hesitated.

            “Paul would have loved it,” Linda sighed.

            “Yeah.”  Julian took the bottle from her and swallowed a few times, quickly, before Linda took it back.

            “Not so fast, kiddo. You’ll make yourself sick.”  She took another gulp for herself.

            “I’m sorry.” The words came out of Julian sounding strained.

            “Don’t worry about it.” She rested the bottle in her arms, the cold glass against her heart.

            “No, I mean—” Julian took a shuddery breath. “I’ve wanted to say this for a while, but…well, I’m supposed to leave tomorrow and I need you to know.”  His breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts.

            “Jules, you don’t need—”

            “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”  Sobs wracked his lanky frame.

            “Sweetheart, it’s not your fault!” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to pull him close.

            “It is, though. It was my fault he was in New York. If I hadn’t wanted to see my dad so much, and been so afraid to go alone, he would have been home with you and the kids.” He was raving, desperate to get his words out before Linda could interrupt.

            “Jules, honey, he was _happy_ to go: he wanted to help you and John.”

            “Yeah, and it killed him! The man was aiming for Dad, Paul got in the way and got three bullets in his back for his trouble!”

            “Jules….” A heaviness filled Linda’s chest. Her heart began to feel crushed by the pressure. She desperately pushed the feeling down, seeking the numbness that had been her constant companion.

            “I wish I had never gone.” The fight had left his voice.

            “Don’t say that,” said Linda. “That’s like saying you wished your dad was dead instead.”

            The silence that filled the space was deafening. Julian finally let her pull him in, resting his head on her shoulder. “Maybe I do,” he whispered, heartbroken.

 

            It felt like hours later when Julian spoke again, his tone completely spent.

            “I asked him why he agreed to come, when we were on the plane.”  He seemed to be waiting for a response, so Linda offered a weak, “Hmm?”

            “He said it was because I was his; that I belonged to all of them. He said that blood didn’t matter: as far as he was concerned, I was his first-born son and he knew George and Ringo felt the same.”

            “It’s true. The boys always adored you.” Linda kissed his hair. “When we met, I would talk about Heather and he would talk about you. It was obvious he loved you.” Linda’s throat was closing around her words. She didn’t want to talk about Paul; that’s why she was hiding in the first place.

            Julian sniffed again, but didn’t respond; just burrowed his face deeper into her shoulder, marking her shirt with his tears.

            A small cry came through the wall behind them.

            “What’s—”

            “It’s James.”  Linda’s limbs felt like lead.

            Jules pulled away from her. “Want me to—?”

            “Could you?”

            “Yeah.” Julian pulled himself upward and slipped out the door.

            Without truly knowing why, she dug through the old box beside her, taking out the baby monitor and switching it on.

 

            James was standing in his crib, gripping the bars tightly when Julian entered the room. His small face was a bright red smear of snot and tears.

            “Hey kid,” said Julian, awkwardly. He never knew what to do with children. One more thing he had in common with his father.

            James reached for him, clutching at the air desperately and coughing around his sobs.

            Julian took the toddler out of the crib, holding the small body close to his chest. “There, that’s not so bad.” He was talking more to himself. James’ screams lessened, soothed by the tone of Julian’s voice.

            Looking around, he spotted the rocking chair by the window. He eased himself and the child into the chair, rocking slowly. James laid his head on Julian’s chest, his sobs now softening to hiccups.  At a loss for what to do next, Julian thought back to what Paul used to do for him. He began humming, and when that seemed to help, he began to sing.

            “ _When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom: Let it be._ ”

            James’ eyes drooped shut.

 

            “ _And in my hour of darkness she is standing there in front of me, speaking words of wisdom: Let it be._ ”

            Linda was choking. She buried her face in Paul’s jacket, pain wracking her through every nerve ending. She writhed on the floor, screaming, but emitting no sound. The dam had broken, the floodgates crashed open, and she was feeling it. For the first time since Paul died, Linda felt the loss of half her soul. For the first time, she allowed herself to cry.

            That’s how George found her the next day: curled up in a ball, cushioned by Paul’s clothes. Her eyes were puffy, her face red, liquor bottles littered around her. She was sound asleep.


	2. Getting Better

Chapter 2

 _Getting Better_

 

September, 1981:

            “Stella! Stella, wake up.”  Julian banged on her door loudly again before moving on to the next door. “Mary!”

            “I’m up!” the little voice yelled angrily through the chestnut door.

            “All right, breakfast in ten.”

            “Fine!”

            “Stella, if you aren’t up in two minutes, I’m coming in there.”

            A muffled groan and then silence. Julian slipped into the last room, decorated in blue with puffy clouds along the wall.

            “Hey, Jamie,” he greeted with a chuckle.

            “Hi, Jules.” The little voice was muffled by the sweater which was currently twisted around his head. His arms flailed slightly, trapped as they were in strange positions above his head.  “I’m stuck!”

            “I can see that.” Julian tried to keep the laughter out of his voice.  “Want help?”

            “I can do it,” James insisted with all the pride a nearly-four-year-old could possibly muster.

Julian leaned against the wall and watched him struggle for another minute or so. “You sure?”

            “Yeah.”

            Another beat passed. “How about I help you with your sweater and then you can help me with breakfast?”

            The ball of rumpled wool sighed heavily.  “All right.”

            “Thanks, kiddo.” Julian pulled the sweater off him and helped him put it on properly. “Now, can you go set the table while I go wake your sisters up?”

            “’Kay, Jules,” said James, flashing a toothy grin.

            Watching the boy run down the hall, Julian smiled gently before getting back to the task at hand.

            “Stella! Are you up?”

            Silence.

            “All right, I’m coming in.”  He opened the door.

            The pink room was always a little too bright, especially in the morning. In the middle of the pink room was a pink bed with a pink lump cocooned in a pink blanket.

            “Stella, wake up,” he ordered, tugging the blanket off the 9-year-old huddled beneath it. “You’re going to be late for school.”

            Burying her head under the pillow, Stella refused to budge.

            “Stella, I will get the ice bucket.”

            Peeking an eye out from under the pillow, she glared at him. “I fucking hate you,” she grumbled.

“I don’t really care, Stell; as long as you’re up.” He stole the pillow on his way out the door. “Breakfast in five,” he called over his shoulders.

            He swung back to the middle door. “Mar—”

            “Here,” the little brunette chimed, stepping out into the hallway fully dressed. Julian was actually taken aback for a moment.

            “ . . . Want me to braid your hair?” he offered.

            “No, thanks; the ponytail’s fine.” She walked right past him and down the steps.  Julian turned back down the hall one last time. “Stell—”

            “ _I’m up! Go away!_ ” she screamed, slamming the door.

 

            “Why can’t Heather come home for our birthdays?” Stella complained over the hot oatmeal Julian had made.

            Julian clenched his jaw. “I told you; Heather has school. She can’t skip it for your birthday.”

            “You’re the same age as Heather, and you’re not in school.”

            “That’s because I’m here.”

            “Yeah, we’re stuck with you.” Stella scowled.

            James looked up from his bowl. “I like Jules being here!” he cried.

            “That’s cause you’re a stupid baby.”

            Mary, ever the peacemaker, jumped in. “We’ll call Heather after school. Now come on or we’ll miss the bus.”

            Julian mouthed a thank you to Mary behind Stella’s back, which Mary accepted with a nod and a smile before ushering her sister out the door.

            Silence reigned for a moment before Julian turned to James. “So, Kiddo, what do you want to do today?”

            “Paint!” James shouted.

            “All right, we’ll paint.

 

            _“I’d like to stay.”_

 _Linda just stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. Finally she settled on, “What?”_

 _Bouncing James lightly on his knees, Julian’s arms circled the small torso nervously. “It’s just…you’ve got a lot to deal with…and I figured maybe I can help take care of the kids, or whatever.”_

 _“Jules, honey...” She kept her voice neutral. “You have school.”_

 _“Which I can finish by correspondence. I mean, I pay them enough, they should be willing to accommodate.” He seemed so young, and so desperate._

 _Linda closed her eyes for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. “Jules…why are you really doing this?”_

 _The colour drained out of Julian’s face, leaving a sickly pallor in its wake._

 _“Because Paul’s gone, and I know what it’s like to lose your dad.  Paul always sort of stood in as a role model for me…you know, someone I could look up to and respect.  Let me do the same for James. It’s the least I can do, considering…”  He let the sentence hang, though Linda could easily fill in the rest; her theory confirmed by the guilt on his face._

 _Feeling her resolve crumbling, she played her last card. “We’re moving to the farm in Scotland.”_

 _Julian stilled, looking at her with confusion etched into his features. “What? Why?”_

 _Not sure whether to give him the public answer or the private one, Linda offered him both.  “The farm has always been the most secluded of the houses and I’m tired of feeling like an animal in the zoo. I’m tired of being gawked at by crowds of strangers and having to wear riot gear just to get the girls to school.”_

 _“But that’ll pass! In a few months this won’t be news anymore and people will move on.”_

 _Linda pursed her lips, dreading putting the real reason into words. “I just can’t be here. I can’t. Every moment hurts more than the last and I can’t face it here. The farm is where we always went to escape real life, and that’s what I want to do.”_

 _“Linda, Paul will still be gone, whether you’re living here or there,” Julian carefully reasoned._

 _The ache in her heart was stronger than it had been a moment before. “…I just can’t be here, Jules. If I get there and that doesn’t work, then I’ll do something else; but for now I just know that I can’t be here. Now, are you coming with us, or not?”  It came out harsher than she’d intended. She just wanted to end the conversation._

 _To his credit, Julian didn’t even hesitate. “I’m coming.”_

 _“Fine. Pack your things, we leave in a week.” She turned on her heel and left him there, holding her baby boy._

 

            Julian set the last plate on the table and looked anxiously at the door. The house was full. People were everywhere and Linda was late. He added a little more water to the soup, stirring it slowly, before looking at the door again.

            “You know, it could be traffic.”

            Julian jumped a mile.

            “Barbara! You scared the shit out of me!” he panted, clutching his chest to still his heart.

            “Sorry, sweetheart.” She grinned, sheepishly, as she stepped into the kitchen.

            “It’s all right…I just wish she would get here. Everything’s ready and if she misses dinner, I’m sure Stella will find a way to blame me for spoiling her birthday party.”

             Chuckling softly, Barbara sat at the kitchen island. “She certainly has personality, that one.”

             “That’s a polite way to put it,” Julian muttered, taking the buns out of the oven. “It’s bad enough that Heather is refusing to come. If Linda misses it, I will be single-handedly responsible for ruining her tenth birthday…and, of course, she’ll never ever let me forget it.”

            Looking far too amused, Barbara rested a hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You worry far too much.”

            “I just want everything to go well.”

            The front door opened.

            “Oh, thank God.” Julian rushed out to meet Linda as soon as she stepped inside.

             Seeing him, she sighed and braced herself.  “All right, kiddo: shoot.”

            “The laundry is done and put away, the house’s been hoovered, and James and I finished all the bathrooms before anyone arrived.” He was rushing, trying to get her updated before the kids realized she was home. Linda nodded for him to continue.

            “I put Ringo and Barbara in Heather’s room, Francesca and Lee are going to be bunking in Stella’s room, George and—”

            “Wait, what about Zac and Jason?”

            Jullian seemed a little off-put at the interruption. “Uh…they didn’t come.”

            “That’s a shame. I was hoping you three could spend some time together.”

            Julian blinked, and then shrugged indifferently. “It doesn’t matter. As long as Lee came, it’s fine.”

            “All right, sorry. Keep going.”

            “George and Olivia are in my room with Dhani on a cot in James’ room. Mary is going to be with the girls in Stell’s room and I’m taking her room. As per your request, you get to keep your own room with your massive bed, you bitch.”

            Linda grinned. “Language, Jules,” she warned with a twinkle in her eyes.

            Julian grinned back before returning to his businesslike monologue. “About a dozen girls have RSVP’d to Stella’s party tomorrow, and three kids from James’ library club will be coming, so I’ve already phoned in our pizza order and picked up the cakes.”

            “Veggie pizza?”

            Julian actually looked offended for a moment. “Obviously.”

            “Just checking,” Linda defended.

            Julian scoffed slightly. “Anyway, dinner is ready, so if you can try to get everyone to—”

            “Mummy!!” James ran into the room and launched himself into Linda’s arms.

            “Jamie!” Linda mimicked, with equal enthusiasm.

            “Jules and me cleaned the bathroom,” he informed her with pride. “Then Dhani got here and we started playing cars!”

            “That’s exciting, darling,” Linda nodded her thanks to Julian, then turned her attention back to her son. “Why don’t we go say hello to everybody and then we can eat? Sound good?”

            “Yeah!” James wiggled down to the ground and took her hand, pulling her further into the house.

            “See? I told you, you worry too much.” Barbara gloated lightly from the kitchen archway.

            Jules turned to look at her again. “Yeah, yeah. Help me get the food on the table,” he ordered, only half-serious.

            Cheerfully, she responded, “I’d be happy to.”

 

            Heather stood at the door, for the first time unsure if she was welcome, and if she should knock or just walk in.  A breeze brushed past her neck, sending shivers down her spine and reminding her that it was getting late and she couldn’t stand out there forever. The train ride had been long, and she knew her hair and makeup were a mess. Now, if only she could build up the nerve to get inside.

            The doorknob shook, and Julian opened the door, slipping out onto the darkened porch.

            “Heather,” he stated, cautiously, crossing his arms.

            “Julian,” she answered, matching his posture.

            “So, you came after all.” He kept his tone neutral, neither accusing nor forgiving.

            “I did, yes.”

            They were at a standoff, neither knowing what to say, both too angry to give an inch.

            “I thought you told Linda and me to go fuck ourselves.” He managed to keep the hurt out of his voice.

            “I did.” She shrugged, a bit of smugness in her expression.

            “So, why are you here?”

            Heather looked past Julian towards the door. “Because there are some things more important in life than being angry with you, and this is one of them. Now, please get out of my way: I have a birthday to get to with _my_ younger sister and brother.” Her tone was cordial, her bearing polite, as she pushed past him and walked into the house, leaving Julian to carry in her bag.

 

            “ _How can you choose him over me?” Heather screamed as she stormed out of the library into the front hallway. “I’m your_ daughter _for fuck’s sake! He’s just the guy that followed us here!”_

 _Linda followed her out._

 _“Heather, watch your language, the kids are upstairs!”_

 _“I don’t care!” She whirled around to confront her mother at the base of the stairs. “You’re sending me away and keeping him: I think I have a right to be fucking angry!”_

 _“I am hardly ‘sending you away’. You’re going to university!”_

 _“Well, I don’t want to go. I want to stay here with my family.”_

 _Linda huffed. “You are going to university and you are going to make something of yourself. You are not going to waste your life hiding on the family farm.”_

 _“You’re letting_ him _waste_ his _life on_ my _family’s farm!” She gestured vaguely towards the basement stairs._

 _Linda glanced sideways at the stairs, and lowered her voice to a stern whisper. “Julian is not my child. You are, and you are going to university and that’s final.”_

 _“What are you going to do?” Heather scoffed. “Kick me out of the house?”_

 _Linda stilled, resolve overtaking her posture. “Don’t test me, Heather.”_

 _Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Heather and Linda stared each other down._

 _Finally, Heather turned away. “Go fuck yourself, mum. You and Julian both.” Slamming open the front door, she stormed down the steps and crossed the yard towards the stables._

 _By the next morning, Heather was on the train to London. She left without a word._

 _Julian had heard the whole exchange._

            Stella was ecstatic. She didn’t let go of Heather’s hand the entire night. James showered Heather in kisses and gave her several drawings to hang on her new wall. Heather didn’t say a word to Linda, and Julian was nowhere to be found.

 

            Once all the kids were settled and the adults started drifting towards their own beds for the night, George put on his jacket and slipped out the basement door.  He made this trip once every visit, usually under the cover of darkness, when it wouldn’t cause Linda any more pain.

            The lands still had a fresh feel to them. All the buildings brand new, all the grass and plants freshly landscaped just a few months before. George had done all the work personally. There were stone pathways criss-crossing the property: one leading to the stables, one to the sheep yards, one connecting Linda’s new house to the old one that she and Paul had built together. 

            No path existed to guide George on this journey, though. Linda hadn’t wanted one built, so George walked, feeling the grass bend and crunch under each step.

            The building was dark, the brick reflecting no illumination: just a shadow on the horizon. He used his own key and flicked on the overhead lights once he was through the door. Each row of lights turned on with an audible click, one by one filling the cavernous space with light.

            It was probably the most up-to-date recording studio in the country. All of Paul’s instruments had been brought in and meticulously placed to make them easy to access, with microphones placed to get the clearest sound. The sound booth overhead was dark and empty, and the equipment had never been used.

            George sat at the piano; the same one that had resided at Abbey Road for so many years, and graced his fingers across the ivory keys.

            Of all the things Linda had built since Paul had died, this was the most heartbreaking. It was like a mausoleum: a shrine frozen in time and a permanent reminder of all Paul had been and all they had lost.

            George plunked the first line of melody for _Little Piggies_ with his index finger, allowing the song to trail off, the notes reverberating into the open air.

            “What are you doing?”

             George nearly fell off the bench.  “Holy fuck, Jules,” George yelped, his heart in his throat.

             Julian was leaning over the railing to the left of the recording booth. His eyes bleary, hair mussed. “Sorry,” he offered, unapologetically, with a wink and a smirk.

             “What are you doing here?” George gasped, trying to calm his breathing.

              Running a hand through his hair, Julian looked highly amused. “Well, I was sleeping, until someone decided to turn on those god-awful overhead lights. Do you have any idea how much energy those things waste?”

             “Sleeping?”

             “Yeah. You want to come up?”

              “Uhm….sure.” George looked at the wall upon which Julian was leaning. “Through there?” he asked, gesturing at the door near the west corner of the room, partially blocked from view by a speaker.

              “You don’t come up here much, do you?” Julian grinned.

               George stood, making his way toward the door. “Not since I set up the sound booth – and the stairs weren’t finished yet, at the time.”

               “Just go straight through the door: you’ll find your way up.”

               The room he entered was quite a bit darker than the one he’d just left, giving the momentary illusion of complete blindness. George stumbled over a small dustbin and accidentally kicked a table before his eyes had adjusted enough to navigate the space. Sure enough, there was a set of stairs in the far corner, illuminated by the light coming from the second floor above.

                It was a bedroom on the upper story, overlooking the studio, with a door to the control room.

                “I definitely don’t remember this,” George murmured, seating himself at the desk near the doorway as Julian passed him, and flopped on the bed.

                “This was the last thing Linda made.”  Julian stretched out on the bed, leaning up against the wall. “She dithered quite a bit because it makes absolutely no sense.”

                “Building a bedroom in a building no one enters?”

                 Julian shrugged. “Yeah.”

                “So why do it?”

                 The corners of Julian’s lips tugged slightly downward as he paused a moment to think. “Apparently, Paul used to spend days in the recording studio, and he’d end up sleeping in chairs or on the floor, if he slept at all.”

                 George nodded, well acquainted with Paul’s habits.

                “Well, she always wished that he had somewhere more comfortable…so she built him a room.”

                 “even though he’ll never use it?”

                  Jules shrugged again. “It’s her studio; she can do as she pleases.”

                  They sat in silence while George took in the space. Typical guest room fare: matching single bed, dresser, and desk.

                 “So, why are you out here?’

                 “No room at the house, mainly.” Julian tapped his knee absentmindedly. “You got my room, Ringo’s in Heather’s, girls are with Stella, Dhani’s with James, Linda in her own room, and Heather in Mary’s.”

                 George leaned back, unsure how to begin the conversation he’d been wanting to have with the young Lennon boy since he first arrived. “Jules…are you happy here?”

                 Julian looked surprised by the question, but answered immediately without a moment’s hesitation. “Of course I am. I love spending time with James, and, you know, seeing how a real family works. It’s kind of like I sort of belong somewhere.”

                Frowning a little, George considered a different tactic. “Have you heard from your mum lately?”

                The restless energy that had coloured Julian’s mannerisms up to this point seemed to still.

               “Yeah,” he said carefully. “She calls about once a week. She and John are very happy together.”

               “And she doesn’t mind that you moved in with Linda?”

                Jules shrugged his shoulders again. “What difference does it make? I’m either here or away at school: it’s not like I’m with her either way.” Julian wouldn’t meet George’s eyes.

               “And your dad?”

               Julian looked at him then, jaw clenched, anger replacing the sadness in his eyes. “No.”

              “No what?”

              “Just no. I’m not talking about him.”

              “All right.” George backed off, casting another glance around the room. “So…sleep here often?”

              The tension visibly drained out of the boy as they returned to safer ground.

              “Not often,” Julian said, now in a more casual tone. “Just when there are, you know, family things and we need the extra room.”

              “Does Linda ask you to leave?” asked George, cautiously, hoping to keep Julian talking.

              It worked. “Nah; I usually take care of planning. Linda is great at sort of going with the flow, but she’s not so good with details in advance.” Julian smirked slightly.

              “So you kick yourself out of the house?” George leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

              Julian blinked. “I wouldn’t put it like that, necessarily…but yeah, I guess.”

              “So, if you feel like you belong here – if you’re happy here – why do you kick yourself out of the house during family events?”

              Julian stilled again, and stared down at his feet for a moment or two. “…It just makes the most sense. I mean, I’m not really family, am I?”

              George was struck speechless. “Jules…you _are_ family! You always have been,” he insisted.

              There was a sad twist to Julian’s lip, and a resigned look in his eyes. “Yeah. Right.” He looked away, hugging his pillow to his chest.

             “Jules, you _do_ belong with us,” George insisted again. He moved to sit on the bed with him. “You are family.”

             “I know,” Julian lied, keeping his eyes averted.

             “Jules—”

             “It’s kind of late, and I have a big day planned tomorrow.” Julian swung his legs to the floor on the other side of the bed. He walked away from George and leaned on the railing again, overlooking the instruments below. “I’m making pancakes first, and then you’re all going to visit Linda’s restaurant. She’s very excited to show everyone the improvements. Should be enough time for lunch in town before the party starts at two.” He said this all in a rush, mentally reviewing his plans.

             George joined him at the railing. “You know, you don’t have to work so hard. You don’t need to plan everything and organize everyone.”

             “Of course I do,” Julian muttered, staring forward but now seeing anything. “Makes me indispensible.”

             George waited for him to continue, but Julian said nothing else. Finally, George exhaled a deep sigh.

             “I’ll see you in the morning.” Wrapping an arm around the smaller boy and squeezing his shoulder, George said goodnight.

             Julian waited for the door to close before whispering, “Can’t get rid of me, if I’m indispensible.”

 

             Heather watched the countryside blur past, her bag a comforting weight leaning against her leg on the floor. She would miss it here.

            “You know,” Linda began, not taking her eyes off the road. “I’m really proud of you.”

            “For what?” Heather kept her focus on the scenery.

            “A few things.” She paused while manoeuvring the car around a corner. “I’m proud that you’re working so hard at school…”

             A noncommittal shrug was all Heather offered, refusing to turn and look at her mother.

             “I’m also proud that you came home for Stella’s party – and James’, of course – but it meant a lot more to Stella.”

             Heather made no reply.

             “I swear, that girl was a terror when she thought you weren’t coming…to Jules, especially.” Linda chuckled. “If she thought she could have gotten away with it, I bet she would have run up to him and kicked him in the shin.”

              Still no response from Heather. Linda wet her lips quickly before speaking again.

             “If you want to keep giving me the silent treatment for the rest of the trip, I will completely understand; but I know you aren’t actually angry with me anymore.”

             For another beat, Heather continued to stare silently out the window. Then she sighed and finally turned her gaze on her mother. “How could you tell?”

             Smiling softly, Linda reached over to take Heather’s hand. “Because I know you, sweetie, and you were never one for holding grudges…maybe the appearance of grudges, but you could never hold on to anger like that.”

             Heather squeezed her mother’s hand, letting out another breath in defeat. “I’m sorry for shouting at you. I was upset, and—”

             “Darling, it’s okay. I understand,” Linda was quick to reassure. “I’m sorry, too. I should have talked to you: asked what _you_ wanted of just _telling_ you. I was just so worried. I brought you here, isolated you…you just seemed so content to hide on the farm, and I couldn’t sit by and let you throw your life away because I couldn’t face the world.”

             Heather could feel the tears beginning to fill her eyes and her nose get hot. “Oh, Mama, I didn’t mind going. I was just so upset that you were letting Jules stay. It felt like you liked him better.”

             With a startling lurch, Linda pulled the car over to the side of the road. She looked directly at Heather. “ _Never_ , baby. You are _my girl_ , and I love you more than life itself.”

             Heather tried to control the quivering of her chin, tried to keep the tears from falling by sheer force of will. “So why’d you let him stay?”

             “Jules wasn’t ready to go.” Linda took Heather’s other hand, forming a circle connecting them. “Julian is working a lot of things through, and he needs more time. When the time is right, he’ll leave, too; and in the meantime, he’ll play with Jamie, help with the girls and try to work off his guilt. But you? You had nothing to hold you back, and a whole world out there waiting for you! I know – I _know_ – that you will do wonderfully, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

             No longer able to hold back, Heather threw arms around her mother. Her tears spilled onto the cotton of Linda’s sweater. “I love you, Mama.”

             “I love you too, baby.” Linda whispered, laying a kiss on her daughter’s head as tears of her own trickled down her cheeks. “I love you too.”

 

             The train was pulling up, casting a swift, cold wind across the platform.

             “You’ll call me when you get there, right?” Linda asked, straightening Heather’s jacket and brushing non-existent lint off her shoulder.

             “Of course I will.” Heather’s smile was a little wet, a little shaky, but nonetheless sincere.

             “And be sure to get something to eat on the train.”

              The smile grew into a small grin as she rolled her eyes. “I will, I promise.”

              Linda pulled her into a hug, squeezing her as though she couldn’t bear to let her go. “I miss you so much when you’re gone.” Her tears were returning. She pulled away quickly and rubbed a hand over her face to stem their flow. “You’d better get on the train before it leaves without you.”

              Heather nodded weakly. Shouldering her bag, she climbed onto the train.

              “Love you, baby!” Linda yelled, waving frantically at the departing train.

              With a nod, Heather offered a small wave through the window and mouthed, “Love you,” back as her mother faded into the horizon.


	3. The Ballad of John and Yoko

Chapter 3

 _The Ballad of John and Yoko_

 

Julian punched down the dough, kneading it against the marble surface of the kitchen island. Sprinkling some more flour on the surface, he rolled it into a ball and placed it in the pan to rise again.

Linda unlocked the door, hanging her house keys on the hook beside the entryway as she made her way into the house. “Jules,” she said, stepping into the kitchen. Sitting at the island across from Julian, she waited for him to finish shifting the loaves around the oven.

“Bread?” she asked, taking in his latest project.

Blushing, Julian looked away, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “I don’t know, it’s relaxing, you know? And with Jamie down for his nap, I had a bit of time and I figured, you know…” He was rambling.

An indulgent smile crept onto Linda’s face. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I think it’s lovely.”

If anything, Julian turned a deeper shade of red as he tried to find a way to change the subject. “What are you doing here, anyway? I figured you’d be swamped with customers, what with Valentine’s day coming up.”

In an instant, all the joy fell from Linda’s face, leaving her looking far too serious. Alarm bells were going off in Julian’s head. “What happened?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Nibbling on her lower lip, Linda gestured at the chair beside her. “Have a seat, Jules.”

Julian felt his chest constrict. “Is it one of the girls? Heather?” He could feel his breath quicken as all the possibilities swarmed before his mind’s eye.

“No, Jules,” Linda assured, quickly reaching to touch his arm. “The girls are fine.”

“George? Ringo?” A thought occurred to him which sent icy chills up his spine. “Oh God. It’s my mum, isn’t it? Something’s happened to my mum—”

“No!” Linda stood and circled the island quickly, taking Jules’ chin in her hand and forced him to look her in the eye. “Jules. Listen. To. Me.” She enunciated every single word.

“Hmm.” He tried to still his nervous shaking.

“Yoko’s dead.”

For a moment, it felt like the whole world froze. Julian stilled, mind completely blank. He had no idea how to process this news.

Seeing his shock, Linda guided him to sit. “She was pregnant…the doctors said it was dangerous: that she should terminate the pregnancy; but she refused. She really wanted this baby.”

Julian slumped a little in his seat. “And the baby?” His tone was emotionless. Numb.

“She’s fine, as far as I know. She pulled through okay.”

Blood was pumping in Julian’s ears, nearly drowning out Linda’s voice. Julian took a deep breath, struggling to centre himself.

“I need to go to New York.” His voice barely a whisper, dread settled low in his belly.

Linda wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. The heartbeat pounding in his ears slowly became hers. “I know, baby.”

 

There wasn’t any flight in existence that Julian hated worse than the flight to New York. It was long, generally filled with angry people, and inevitably he ended up seated near the child that refused to settle down. This trip in particular was made all the worse by the fact that he was travelling alone.

 

 _“You can’t go! You can’t!” Stella was screaming at the top of her lungs, her face bright red with misery._

 _“Stella, stop it!” Linda ordered swiftly. “It’s only for a few days, and then I’ll be back.”_

 _“No!” She stomped her feet, hands balled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were white._

 _Linda reached for her daughter. “Heather’s going to come watch you. Don’t you want to spend time with Heather?”_

 _“No! I want you!” Stella was shaking – too much emotion rolled up in a small body with no way out._

 _“Stella, it’s only going to be a few days – a week at most – and then I’ll be back. You wouldn’t want Jules to have to go to New York alone, would you?”_

 _If anything, Stella became more upset at these words. Her tears flowed freely, sobs choking off any attempt to speak._

 _Linda held her baby girl, trying desperately to soothe her.  Mary, who had been sitting quietly throughout the outburst, finally spoke. “That’s the last thing Daddy said to us, too.” Her words, though softly spoken, rang through the room like a bullet._

 _Linda looked at Julian helplessly and he knew he would be travelling alone._

 

As soon as the plane landed, Julian was pulled aside by the flight attendant. “If you’ll come with me, sir, other arrangements have been made for you.”

“What about my bags?” he asked, hurrying to keep up as she led him through the maze of tunnels through the airport.

“They’re being pulled before they reach baggage claim and you’ll get them before you leave.”  She unlocked a door and let him into a dimly lit lounge.

Julian stuffed his hands into his pockets, taking in the vacant room. “Why—?”

“Because of the press, sir.” She struggled, trying to pull the key out of the lock. She ended up twisting it back and forth a few times before it was finally released. “Your friend should be here shortly.”  Her tone was final, and as he stepped through the door, it was closed immediately behind him.

With nothing else to do, Julian flopped down on one of the couches and began to read a three-month-old issue of the National Inquirer, which had been left on the table.

There was no clock in the room, so time seem to slow to an agonizing pace, and consequently, Julian had no idea how much time passed before Ringo pushed his way into the room.

“Jules!” He exclaimed happily, arms open wide for a hug.

Standing quickly, Julian tossed his latest magazine onto the table and met Ringo halfway across the room, throwing his arms around his Beatle uncle.

They held each other tightly, heartily slapping each other on the back. With a final squeeze, Ringo released him. “How was your flight?” He shouldered Julian’s carry-on bag.

“Horrible…what’s with all this?”

Ringo sighed, his joviality slipping away in an instant. “It’s a madhouse out there. The second Yoko’s death hit the news, the press descended like locusts and we can’t get anywhere without being bombarded with questions. It’s a right mess.”

Julian expected as much, but it was nice to have it confirmed. “Where’s Dad?” he asked as they made their way through more maze-like passageways.

“Hiding. George is with him, making the arrangements by phone. We’ll be joining them until things get figured out.”

“And how exactly are we getting there?” Julian asked.

“Your chariot, good sir!” joked Ringo, pushing open one last door into a sheltered alleyway just a short distance from the parking lot.

“What is that?” Scepticism coloured Julian’s features as he took in the ‘car’.

“Oh, come on: it’s not that bad,” Ringo laughed, circling to climb into the driver’s seat.

“It _is_ that bad,” stated Jules, approaching it cautiously as though it might attack at any moment. “It’s not even metal: it’s just rust. Does it even turn on?”

“If you get in, you’ll find out.” The laughter was back in Ringo’s voice. “Come on, kid: live a little.”

Julian opened his door, and gingerly sat in the front passenger seat, which appeared to be composed primarily of duct tape. “I’d like to say, for the record, that I’m entering this death trap under severe protest.”

Ringo turned the ignition, making the engine sputter and pop. “Listen to this baby purr!” he cackled as he pulled the car onto the road.

Julian gripped the armrest tightly and seriously considered the possibility that his uncle might truly be insane.

 

It was a normal hotel room – two double beds, a television in the corner, and a door leading into a small bathroom.  The only thing unusual about the room was that it contained three Beatles, all looking incredibly out of place in their humble surroundings.

Ringo and Julian could hear the yelling before they had even reached the door. With a madman’s grin forcibly plastered to his face, Ringo had shrugged and unlocked the door. “After you, kiddo.” He swept into a quick bow.

Julian shoved his hands into his pockets and cautiously slipped into the dim room.

“I mean, shit, this place doesn’t even have room service!”  John paced angrily to glare out the window, crossing his arms over his chest. Agitation seeped from his every pore.

“You don’t like it? Feel free to face the fucking press.” George was rubbing his temples from where he was sat at the edge of one of the beds. He sounded worn out: not just tired, but actually _worn_.

“What’s your fucking problem?” John snarled, turning to look at George. “It’s not _your_ wife that’s dead!”

George lifted his head, resting his chin on his tightly balled fists. His jaw clenched as he mulled over his words. “No. But I’ve spent the last three days babysitting the widower, who ought to be old enough by now to know better.” His voice was colder than Julian had ever heard it.

John sneered. “That’s a laugh, coming from you. A bit hypocritical, really: you always hated it when Paul acted like this.”

“Well, maybe Paul was right: you _do_ need a fucking keeper.”  His entire posture was tense, but George refused to stand up and face John.

A bitter laugh spilled from John’s mouth. “Don’t even bother: you haven’t got the balls to pull it off, son.”

For a moment, George just stared at him with his chin still firmly planted on his knuckles. Then, sitting up and straightening his back, he pointedly held John’s gaze and said,

“Grow the fuck up.”  His voice quiet, but unwavering. “Your wife just died, your child is sitting in the next room, probably scared to death, and you’re worrying about fucking room service? About the fact that the room is a bit small? Get your priorities straight and take care of your family.”

“Hey, guys,” Ringo finally cut in, cheerfully, in an attempt to break the tension. “Jules is here.”

George’s eyes remained on John’s for a moment longer before he, very purposefully, stood and turned his back to John’s irate form.

“Hi, Jules,” he said at last.

Julian hugged George and answered a few polite questions about the flight. Then he looked at his father, for the first time in over a year.

“Hi, Dad.”  He wished his voice wouldn’t shake the way it was.

“Jules,” John acknowledged with a brief nod.

Julian sucked nervously on his lower lip before speaking again. “I’m really sorry about Yoko.”

Again, John nodded. His hands tugged at the fabric of his jeans. Fourteen months had passed and yet they still had absolutely nothing to say to each other.

Julian looked to George again, searching for some kind of acknowledgement. “Maybe I should see Sean . . . you said he’s next door?” Jules began backing towards the room’s main entrance, not even waiting for confirmation.

“Yeah,” George answered quickly, following him across the room, “But you can use the connecting door.” He gestured vaguely behind him.

Julian followed the gesture to the connecting door, and glanced briefly back at his father before turn the knob.

“Jules, George called sharply, forcing Julian to look back from the open door.  Julian started, and George, noticing, spoke more gently. “You’ll need the key,” he explained, pulling it from his pocket and tossing it to the fleeing youth.

“Thanks,” said Jules, eyes expressing all the feelings he couldn’t put into words. The yelling resumed before the door even closed behind him.

 

He was happy to slip away from his father and all the silence that stood between them.  The room was dark when he first got in, but as his eyes adjusted he could see the silhouette of a small boy sitting quietly on the bed closest to the window, staring out into the bright lights of the New York night.  He hadn’t even turned in response to the shaft of light from the door, or the sound of it opening or closing.

“Hey Sean,” Julian tried, cautiously.

Sean still didn’t look back.

The elder Lennon son walked over and sat down beside the younger boy near the window. “Remember me?” he asked, trying to sound playful.

Sean nodded quickly, not taking his eyes off the landscape. “You’re Jules.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence, and time lost all meaning as the darkness in the room became overwhelming.

“My sister is there,” Sean finally piped up, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” Julian asked, his mind having wandered.

“My sister is there.” Sean pressed his finger against the glass, pointing out a hospital in the distance.

“Oh.” Even with all the practice he’d had in the past year, Julian had no idea what to say to a mourning child.

“Mommy said that the baby would make everything okay again. The baby would make Daddy love us again.”

“Sean,” Jules breathed, feeling an invisible fist tighten around his heart. “Your dad always loves you.”

“I know.” Sean sounded reassuringly certain: Julian couldn’t help envying it.  “But him and Mommy were fighting a lot. Mommy was afraid he was going to leave us.”

Julian wrapped an arm around his baby brother. “He would never leave you. You’re his beautiful boy.” He hoped Sean couldn’t hear the note of bitterness in his voice.

“Yeah,” Sean agreed absently, eyes fixated on the building where his sister was being kept.

Julian bit his lip, eyes shifting to the connecting door where the three former Beatles were, from the sound of it, still ripping each other to shreds.

“Want to go visit her?” he suggested cautiously, an evil thrill passing through him at the thought of breaking the rules.

His little brother turned to look at him for the first time that evening, eyes wide with hope. “Can we?”

Julian shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go.”

Julian helped Sean with his coat and they used the fire escape to bypass the lobby. 

 

In less than five minutes they were in a taxi and on their way.

“Hey kid,” rumbled the cab driver as he chomped on a cigar. “It’s like two in the morning. Shouldn’t you and the little one be in bed?”

“We weren’t tired,” was Julian’s simple reply as he stretched a protective arm around Sean’s shoulders.

“And who’d you say was in the hospital?”  The tone of the driver’s voice was a little too casual.

“I didn’t.” Julian hunched a little lower in his seat. “Our grandmother is very ill, and we’re hoping to spend a little time with her before . . . well, you know.”

“Uh huh.” The driver didn’t believe him for a second. They came to an abrupt stop at the curb in front of the New York Hospital. “Well, here we are.”

Julian reached across Sean to open the door onto the sidewalk. “How much do I owe you?” he asked, sliding after Sean towards the door.

“Don’t worry about it, kid: it’s on me.”

Resignation settled in his stomach as he moved to stand. “Thank you,” he muttered politely over his shoulder, walking away without a second glance.

“I still think we should have left a note so Uncle George won’t be mad.” Sean clutched Julian’s hand tightly, leading him expertly through the maze of corridors after they’d come away from the front desk.

“Don’t worry,” said Julian. “At this point he’s likely to kill us whether we’d left a note or not.”

“How come?”  Sean looked so genuinely baffled and alarmed that Julian nearly laughed.

“You’ll see.” He couldn’t keep the small hint of mirth out of his voice.

Stopping in front of the elevator, Sean cocked his head sideways, giving Julian a look of intense concentration. “Why are you happy?” he asked as he reached up and pressed the summoning button with his free hand. “I don’t want to be killed.”

He said it so seriously that Julian laughed before he could stop himself. “Well, my boy…” He swung Sean’s hand back and forth as they waited. “Sometimes these things can’t be helped.”

Sean furrowed his brow a little deeper, and Jules thought back to his initial reunion with Ringo, wondering if his little brother was now viewing him in the same light.

Hospitals always smelled so sterile—not _clean_ , particularly, just _sterile_ : uncomfortably sterile. The hallways were white and completely empty. Police patrolled the corridors, keeping vigil over the littlest Lennon.

Sean knew the way perfectly, walking confidently through the halls, secure in the knowledge that no one would dare stop him.  Julian trailed behind, eyes on the ground and shoulders hunched. The only thing keeping him moving was the small boy gripping his hand, dragging him along.

“The doctor’s office is just up here,” Sean announced without a glance at his companion.

“All right.” Julian dragged a hand through his hair and tried to quell the sudden rush of nervousness that always came with meeting new people.  His little brother pulled him into the room on their left, not even bothering to knock.

“Hi, Doctor Sarah,” he announced cheerfully, offering a large, whole arm wave.

The doctor looked up and smiled brightly. “Hello, Sean! What brings you here so late?”

“I brought Julian to meet our baby sister.” He leaned forward as though sharing a secret. “He’s my big brother…from England.”

“Is he, now?” She walked around her desk and offered him her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Julian.”

Julian felt his throat go dry, his mind blank…God, she was pretty. “Uh…yeah.”

Dr. Sarah, as Sean had called her, looked indulgently amused. “If you want to follow me?” she offered, waiting for his nod before leading the boys down another empty corridor.

“We’ve closed off this section of the hospital for Yoko’s stay. We didn’t want her or the baby to be harassed. The only ones with access to the baby are myself, my personal nursing staff and Bridget…and family, of course.”

“Who’s Bridget?” Julian asked, prompting the doctor to cast him a quizzical look.

Sean looked at him brightly. “She’s our Nanny. She’s nice.”

“Ah,” was all Julian could say. He felt more disconnected by the moment.

“We want to keep her a few more days, just to make sure she’s all right, but she will likely be home by the end of the week.”

They stopped outside the door while she dug through her pocket for the key.

“Has my Dad been in to visit at all since…” Julian cast a glance at Sean before finishing lamely, “…you know?”

Hands stilling over the keys, she wasn’t sure what to say. “Um, no. We haven’t seen him at all.”

“Oh.”  What else was there to say?

Finally, Sarah pushed open the door.

Sean dropped Julian’s hand and rant to the small, enclosed bed in the centre of the room. “Look, Jules! Isn’t she beautiful?”

Julian moved to join his brother and got his first glance at the newest member of their family. She was wrinkly, her skin blotchy and her head was slightly deformed-looking. He remembered in passing that that was apparently normal for non-caesarean babies, but it was still a little unnerving. He certainly wouldn’t call her beautiful. Julian rubbed his face, trying desperately to find something nice to say.

The baby looked up at Julian, her dark eyes shining in the hospital lights.  Almost against his will, he reached a hand into the crib, letting her wrap a fist around his finger. She gurgled and spit dribbled down her chin.

Julian was entranced. “You’re right; she’s beautiful.” It felt like being in love. He couldn’t look away. “What’s her name?”

“Do you remember her name, Sean?” Sarah asked from behind them.

“Yeah, it’s Yoko. Yoko Julia Mimi Mary Pauline Lennon.”

“Oh, God. He did it again,” groaned Jules in exasperation. “When I have kids, they will get _one_ middle name, _if_ that.” He watched as the baby shook his finger back and forth. “I suppose we should give him some credit. At least he didn’t name her John.”

He could hear Sarah chuckle behind him. “‘Joanna’ was actually a serious contender throughout the pregnancy. That and Yvonne.”

Julian huffed. “Typical.”

“I don’t want to call her Yoko.”

Tearing his eyes away from his new sister, Julian kneeled down to be at eye level with his brother. “Pardon?”

Sean was no longer the happy boy who danced a jig in the corridor. It was as though the entire world was weighing down his small shoulders. The whole room seemed to darken with his mood. “I don’t want to call her Yoko. That’s Mommy’s name.”

Julian looked over Sean’s shoulders for help, but the doctor just shrugged helplessly.

“Uhh…” Julian chewed on his lip for a moment. “Well, we don’t have to call her Yoko,” he offered carefully.

“But that’s her name.” Sean’s lip quivered slightly.

“Well, my name is actually John, but you don’t call me that, do you?”

Sean stood a little taller. “No, I don’t.”

“You call me by Julian, which is one of my middle names.”

Thinking a moment, Sean’s lip twitched upward a bit. “So instead of Yoko, we could call her Julia?”

Julian’s eyebrows shot upward. “Er,” he stammered, “That’s…um…well, that’s a lot like my name.”

Sean knitted his eyebrows together. “You’re right. We’ll call her Mimi.”

“All right,” Julian shrugged. “Mimi it is.”

He looked at the doctor again. “Sound good?”

She conceded quickly. “I’m fine with Mimi. I’ll be sure to let Bridget know.”

Standing again, Julian pulled Sean into a side hug.  They looked at the baby silently for a while.

“Can I hold her?”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

The sky was beginning to brighten by the time Julian and Sean left the hospital and they walked into anarchy.

As soon as the doors swung open, they were bombarded with a cascade of flashing lights as journalists pushed forward, desperate for a comment – any comment.

Finally, Julian lifted Sean into his arms, for fear of the boy being crushed. “You all right?” Julian asked into his brother’s ear.

Sean nodded, eyes wide, arms gripped tightly around Julian’s neck.

Pushing forward, Julian slowly beat his way through the crowd – ignoring most of the questions around him, stopping to give a statement only when they had reached the cab at the street. “Yes, Sean and I came to see the baby. We both think she’s a beautiful child and we love her to bits, right Sean?” He threw Sean a reassuring grin.

“Yeah,” Sean yelled, nodding widely to cover his nervousness.

“She is receiving very good care and we look forward to her returning home.”

The reporter nearest to Sean asked loudly, “What’s her name?”

“Mimi!” Sean yelled again before Julian could even think of the answer. Jules cringed and put the boy in the back of the cab. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Sean and I must be getting back.”

Sliding into the back seat, Julian tried to get the door closed, but had to fight against the starving wolves. He caught one last question before getting his door shut. It made him burst out laughing. “No, I will not tell you where we’re staying!” he said, aghast.

The taxi pulled out into the Manhattan dawn.

Julian put an arm around Sean’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze and planting a kiss on the crown of his head. “You did great, kiddo. You did great.”

“Thanks, Jules,” Sean yawned, eyes drooping shut.

“Night, kiddo.” Julian whispered, resting his chin on Sean’s head.

“…Jules?” whimpered Sean in that faraway voice of the nearly-asleep.

“Yeah?”  
            “I don’t want Uncle George to kill us.”

Heart melting, Jules’ face broke into another wide grin. “Don’t worry,” he laughed. “I’ll take the blame. He’ll just kill me.”

“I don’t want you to be killed, either.”

He gave the boy another cuddle. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“’Kay.”  Minutes after that, the only sound coming from the small boy were tiny, breathy snores.

Their driver, a different man this time, smiled at them in the rear-view mirror. “Cute kid,” he complimented.

Sitting up a little straighter, Julian smiled proudly back.

“Thanks,” he replied.

 

George rested his head on his arms, hugging his knees more tightly to his chest. The hallway wall was warm against his back, the carpet so threadbare that it might as well not have existed at all.

Feeling his eyes begin to droop, he shook his head to wake himself up, his hair tickling his ears as it had in the sixties. The elevator sounded, the doors squeaking as they struggled to open.

Sean jumped out of the lift with far more energy than is natural in the morning. He stopped dead when he saw George, all colour draining from his face. “Please don’t kill us!”  The words rushed out of him.

George huffed, exhaustion edging his awareness. Dragging himself to his feet, he leaned heavily on the wall. “Bed, Sean,” he ordered, opening the door beside him.

Sean ran into the darkened room without a word.

Closing the door, George turned back to where Jules stood, just outside the elevator, seemingly already prepared for whatever George was planning to throw at him.  Staring at the young man blearily for a moment, George finally asked, “What were you thinking?” His tone was one of exhaustion. “In what universe was it a good idea to bring a six-year-old out at two in the morning in New York City?”

Julian looked away, guilt shadowing his face. “Well, I just thought—”

“No, Jules,” George sounded so exasperated. “I refuse to believe you were thinking, because that would severely lower my opinion of your intelligence, which I would rather not have happen.”

Eyes locked on the ground, Julian tried again. “I just—”

“You knew we were in hiding; you knew no one had made an official statement yet, so the wolves were salivating at the gates; hell, you knew you look too much like your father _not_ to get noticed. I mean, _fuck_ , Jules!” He slammed his hand against the wall, and a dull pain shot up into his elbow.  “This was the single stupidest thing you’ve ever done. This is a dangerous city, full of dangerous people and you brought your brother into that.”

“George, listen—” Julian tried to reason, looking George straight in the eye now.

“No, _you_ listen. This city killed Paul. What makes you think it won’t kill you?” He felt his eyes warm with unshed tears. “It was fucking stupid, Julian.”

 “ _I’m sorry!_ ” Julian shouted, cutting off George’s tirade. “George…I’m _sorry._ ” He was pleading now, and took George’s hand in his own. 

Deflating, George pulled Julian toward him, and clutched him in a firm hug. “I am _not_ losing anyone else, Julian. I’m _not,_ ” he murmured.

“I’m sorry. Really.” Julian pulled away, now with a small, nervous smile on his face. “How did you catch us, anyway?”

The annoyance was back in George’s eyes, but this time tempered with amusement. “My contact at the Times called and wanted to know if I had any comment about what you said at the hospital…” As he thought back on it, he felt his cheeks warm.

“What’d you say?” Julian’s little simper had grown into a proper smile.

George cringed. “I…may have sworn a few times and thrown the phone against the wall.”

“Didn’t that wake up…?” he nodded meaningfully in the direction of the door.

George followed his gaze. “Nah. They’re completely passed out. A hurricane could blow through that room and they would sleep right through it.”

Chuckling slightly, Jules took a step back. “It’s been a long day, so I’m just going to…” he gestured towards his own room.

“No, you’re not.” George stated firmly.

Julian stopped short. “What?”

Shrugging, George opened the door to his room again. “Sorry, kiddo, but running off in the middle of the night lost you your room privileges.”

“But I just—” Julian pleaded.

“That’s just the way it’s gotta be.”

Julian rolled his eyes and slunk into the room shared by the three Beatles, flopping onto the bed occupied by Sean. He was asleep before George had even slipped under the blankets on the other side.

 

 _Jet lag is a bitch_ , thought Julian, slipping out of Sean’s grip five hours later.  Sean rolled over and clung to George instead, both oblivious to the world around them.

Walking toward the window, Julian stubbed his toe on the other bed along the way.  Muffling a curse with his hand, he limped the rest of the way to the fire escape. Leaning heavily on the railing, he stared out into the alleyway and listened to the sounds of New York in the morning.

“Perfect, isn’t it?”

Julian jumped, bumping his head on the railing above him. “Fuck, Dad!” he groaned, clutching his head. “I thought you were asleep!”

John snorted, coming forward to rest on the railing beside him. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You and Ritchie were spooning.”

“If a man wants to spoon with his mate in the wee hours of the morning, that’s his right.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Julian slumped down to lean on the railing again.

John closed his eyes and just listened: to passers-by talking, horns sounding, church bells in the distance ringing to announce the hour.  “I fucking love this city.” He took a deep breath, as though drinking in the metropolis itself.

“It is beautiful,” Julian agreed, conscious of how closely he was mirroring his father.

After another moment, John cast his eyes on him.

“Ciggy?” He offered the pack after taking one of his own.

Julian didn’t smoke. “Sure.” He took one, accepting the light John offered as well. Taking a deep breath, he struggled not to cough as the smoke irritated his lungs.

John bit his cheek to keep from laughing at his son’s expression. He flicked his ashes into the alley below and gazed outward again. “So, I hear you’ve taken up residence at Linda’s place…I bet your mother loves that.” He snickered, taking another puff.

Chewing on his thumbnail, Julian replied, “Yeah…it’s. Well.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“How’s old Martha doing?” Laughter filled John’s tone as he tapped his cigarette again.

“Martha?”

“Big ugly sheepdog? Mass of drool and fur, with little in between? God, Paul loved that stupid dog.” There was a fondness in John’s tone that Julian had never heard before.

Twisting his fingers, Julian hesitated before speaking. “Um…Dad…Martha’s gone.” He struggled to find the right words. “I mean, she was an old dog anyway, she probably wouldn’t have made it another year regardless, but…well, when Paul…you know. She just…”

All the previous joy in John’s face was gone. The same tension that had always been a part of his interaction with his father had returned, and it sucked away everything good about the moment.  John’s face was just blank: horrifyingly blank.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” Julian wasn’t even sure why he was apologizing.

John just turned his back on Julian, climbing back through the window and slipping back into his bed, refusing to deal with reality.

Julian chucked his cigarette down to the concrete below, and left it to burn out, abandoned, on the street.

 

“…Brittania, Brittania rules the—” _splash!_

Julian brushed some drops off the glossy pages of his magazine and kept reading.

“Did you ever see that movie, Jules?” Sean asked, crossing his arms over the side of the tub and resting his chin on them. A ball of bubbles clung to his head.

Julian offered a small smile and flicked the bubbles away. “Yeah; though I was smaller than you at the time.”

“Really? It was that long ago?” Sean gasped, dumbfounded.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Come on; I was a kid, once.”

“No you weren’t,” Sean said solemnly. “You’ve always been old.”

“Shut up, you.” Julian lightly tapped Sean on the head with his magazine, but the smile stayed on his face. “Are you done yet?”

Sean shrugged and flopped back into the water, causing another small tidal wave.

“I don’t know why you offered to watch me. It’s not like I’m gonna drown. I’ve been taking baths forever!”

Julian turned his attention back to his article. “Because I would much rather be locked in here with you, than locked out there with them.”

Sean stared at the ceiling, deep in thought, with his hair floating around his head like a black halo. He sat up again suddenly, and looked at his brother. “Jules?”

“Hmm?” He flipped a page.

Sean twisted his fingers together under the water. “Why don’t you like Daddy?”

Julian froze, staring at his page but not seeing a word.

“Jules?”  Sean’s voice was small; meek.

Julian put down his magazine and plastered a smile on his face. Even Sean could tell it was forced. “I like Dad.”

Sean lifted an eyebrow in a clear display of scepticism.

“I do,” Julian insisted.

A voice echoed through the walls, ringing out clearly in the tiny washroom.

“ _Julian!_ ” bellowed John. “ _Get the fuck out here!_ ”

With eyes twice their normal size, Sean stared at Jules. “Stay here,” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine.” It took all he could muster to keep his voice from shaking. “You just stay here and try not to drown.”

He stood and brushed off his clothes before reaching for the doorknob. He started when a fist slammed on the other side of the door, and slightly-muffled arguing could be heard.

“Jules, don’t!”  Sean was nearly in tears.

“Sean, I will be _fine_.” Julian enunciated each word distinctly and sent the boy a last, confident wink before pulling open the bathroom door and stepping out.

Ringo was sitting on the bed, looking intently at the television, while George was struggling to pull and _keep_ John away from the bathroom door.

“John, you’re going to frighten Sean,” he kept insisting, throwing all of his weight into the struggle.

Julian’s breath caught in his throat as primal animal fear began to take over his being. This was a fear from long ago: a fear he thought he’d outgrown. What grown man is still afraid of his father?

He forced himself forward, taking one step, then another…and then his legs stopped.

“You fucking little bastard!” John snapped when their eyes met, throwing himself forward again and again against George’s grip. “You had _no right!_ ”

Julian crossed his arms defensively over his chest and looked to Ringo for aome clue as to what John was on about.

Nodding to the television, Ringo raised the volume.

“The Lennon boys, seen at the hospital last night, confirmed that the newest Lennon child, Mimi Lennon, is in good health and well-loved,” the perky voice announced on the black and white screen. Then Ringo shut it off.

“The baby’s name is Yoko,” John snarled, though no longer fighting George’s hold. “You had no right to change her name, you son of a fucking whore.”

Julian opened his mouth, unsure of how to respond. “…I like Mimi better,” he hazarded.

John’s eyes were full of pure venom. “It doesn’t matter what _you like_ ,” he spat. “The child is _mine_ : mine and Yoko’s. _We_ chose her name, _not_ you!”

George took a tentative step away now that John had ceased fighting him. “John. It’s not that big a deal,” he reasoned.

“Not that big a deal?” John focused his attention on George. “Who is _he_ to come here out of nowhere and change _my daughter’s_ name?”

With gravity, George answered, “He’s your son.”

John turned back to glance at Julian, lip curled in disgust. “He’s no son of mine. He’s just a mistake from a Saturday night after too much liquor.”

Julian felt his nose tingle and grow warm, and tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes. He fought them back.

“Sean’s my son, Yoko’s my child, and you? You’re just an accident lucky enough to’ve been birthed before I knew about abortion.”

Jules felt it: a chilling anger that began in his stomach and slowly spread through his limbs, up his neck and into his head. It made him cold, stripped of emotion and deadly. For a brief moment, he wondered if this feeling was how John was able to hurt people so callously; but the moment passed and he found he didn’t care. This feeling was like steel. It made him feel brave.

“I may be a mistake,” he said, “but at least I have people who love me. Look at you: your father couldn’t stand the sight of you and only came back for your money, your mother got rid of you so she could have a real family with better kids. You got dumped on your auntie and were always one step away from Strawberry fucking Field.”

“Shut up!”

“Now look where you are: your wife died and the only people who came to help you are the son you hate and the band you destroyed. You are a pathetic, washed up has-been hiding out in your ivory tower, a continent away from everyone who used to matter to you…and guess what? We’re fine! We don’t need you, and our lives are a _hell_ of a lot better without you.” For the first time in his life, Julian felt powerful. Indestructible, even. “You are the worst father in the entire world, and the worst human being I’ve ever met. Paul never should have saved your miserable—” he was sent sprawling by a powerful punch. The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue before he even realized what had happened.

“ _John!_ ” George frantically dashed forward to pull him back again, holding him off from causing further damage to the bloodied boy on the floor.

“You’re _nothing,_ you hear me?!  _Nothing!_ ” John screamed, an edge of desperation overshadowing his anger.

Julian pulled himself back to his feet, feeling an intense calm. He wiped his mouth and glared at his father.

“No.” His voice was steady, without fear or anger. “ _You’re_ nothing. You’re just a pathetic, cowardly shadow of your former glory, and I don’t need to put up with your shit anymore. Don’t call, don’t write, don’t expect visits…I’m done with you.”

For once, Julian turned his back on his father, and walked out on him.

 


	4. (I want to) Come Home

Chapter 4

 _(I want to) Come Home_

 

            The airport was busy: everyone concerned with their own business; so much so that Julian passed completely unnoticed. He slipped through the crowd like water, sliding past businessmen and parents alike. It was only when he arrived at the ticket counter that he was met with the familiar look of recognition. To her credit, she tried not to draw attention to it.

            “Hello sir, how may I help you?” she asked politely, but her smile was mischievous: the smile of shared secrets.

            “I’d like a ticket to England, please.” He kept his tone light and his smile easy. He couldn’t let anyone see what he was really feeling or he’d hear about it in the enquirer tomorrow.

            “Anywhere in particular in England?” She looked amused.

            Julian’s smile turned flirtatious as he leaned in a little closer. “If you could get me anywhere on the island, that would be fantastic.”

            A blush stained the girl’s cheeks, and she turned her attention to the computer screen in order to hide it. “There’s a flight to London in five hours. We have two spots left in First Class.”

            “Perfect,” Julian purred, sliding a credit card across the desk.

            Accepting the card, she copied it onto the receipt. “And what name would you like this under?”

            “Julian Lennon,” he said with a smirk and a wink.

            She visibly melted.

            “Jules! Jules! Jules!!” a tiny voice yelled in the distance.

            Julian turned just in time for the six-year-old to latch his arms around Julian’s waist.

            “Jules! Jules!” he just kept shouting, rubbing snot and tears into the hem of Julian’s shirt.

            “Sean!” He pushed the child back long enough to get to eye level. “What are you doing here?”

            “You didn’t say goodbye!” Sean’s face collapsed on itself as his little body shook with fresh sobs.

            “Aww…I’m sorry, kiddo.” Julian pulled him into a tight hug. “I was going to call you as soon as I got home.”

            “You said that last time, and then you never did!” he wailed, locking his arms around his brother’s neck.

            Squeezing tighter, Julian rocked him back and forth. Slowly, Sean’s sobs quieted to the occasional hiccup.  Lifting him up, Julian carried him toward the lounge area. “Hey, Sean…” he hazarded, “How did you get to the airport?”

            “Uncle Ritchie brought me.”

            “And where is Ringo now?”

            The boy shrugged against Julian’s shoulder. “I dunno. I lost him when I saw you.”

            Grimacing, Julian quickly scanned the airport. Sure enough, there was a former Beatle causing a scene.

            “Come on, kiddo: let’s go get Uncle Ritchie.”

            Burrowing his nose into Julian’s shirt, Sean murmured, “I don’t want him to yell at me.”

            Chuckling, Julian headed off in the direction of their uncle. “It’s Ringo: he never yells at anyone…I stuck gum in his hair once and he didn’t yell at me.”

            “Really?” Sean asked, sounding hopeful.

            “Yeah. He just laughed and said it matched his suit. Now Uncle Brian, on the other hand, was _pissed right off_. He gave me a tongue lashing for the ages.”

            “Who’s that?”

            Julian opened his mouth, but then closed it again; at a loss as to how to explain. He finally settled on, “He was a friend of Dad’s when I was little. He was my godfather.”

            “Oh.” Sucking gently on his thumb, Sean mulled this over. “Do I have a godfather?”

            “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Dad.”

            “There you are!!” Ringo had finally spotted them. It took a few minutes to push his way through the crowd that seemed denser around him than anywhere else in the airport. “Sean, I told you not to run off! You could have been kidnapped or killed, and then your Dad would kill _me_ , and we’d all be miserable…”

            “You said he wouldn’t yell,” Sean accused in a whisper.

            Julian leaned in a little to whisper back, “He’s not yelling: he’s scolding. There’s a difference.”

            “What’s the difference? It sounds the same,” Sean asked petulantly.

            “Scolding is deserved.”

            “Are you two even listening to me?!” Ringo demanded.

            “Sorry, Ritch,” Julian muttered, tuning back into what Ringo was saying.

            “Sorry,” echoed Sean.

            “I just don’t like it when you run off…either of you.” Ringo looked pointedly at Julian. Feeling his cheeks warm, Julian looked away and cursed his fair complexion.

            “But, what’s done is done; and I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.”  Just like that, their lovable ‘uncle’ was back. “You’ve got a few hours, right Jules?”

            Julian nodded.

            “Excellent! Let’s get some food before you’re subjected to plane food for twelve straight hours.”

            Smirking, Jules informed him, “You know, I _am_ in First Class.”

            Ringo shook his head. “Makes no difference. It’s all freeze-dried, vacuum-packed rubbish.”

            Julian shook with laughter as Ringo led the way to the nearest eatery.

 

            “You know, he ran after you: dripping wet from the tub and completely starkers.  I just barely caught him before he ran right through the lobby and into the street.  Then he would only put on trousers once I agreed to bring him to find you.”  Ringo’s tone was casual, almost conversational, as they watched from a park bench while Sean climbed a jungle gym a short distance away.

            Julian tried to suppress a grin, but failed miserably.  “Really?” He asked, tightening his arms around his torso to fight off the chilled New York air. 

            “Yeah. I suppose it’s the Lennon flair for the dramatic coming through.” Ringo nudged him playfully.  “I seem to recall you pulling a similar scene when you were that age.”

            “I would never,” Julian insisted with a very put-upon air, though he breathed a small chuckle through his denial. 

            “My kids never pulled anything like that,” Ringo stated proudly.

            Shaking his head, Julian’s smile grew wider. “Somehow I doubt that.”  Remembering his manners suddenly, Julian asked, “How are your kids, anyway?  I didn’t see the boys at the wedding.”

            The smile slipped from Ringo’s features.  “That’s because they weren’t there.”

            Feeling the change of atmosphere, Julian grimaced and slumped down in his seat.  “Wow. I just can’t keep my foot out of my mouth today,” he murmured, angry with himself.

            “No, it’s all right,” Ringo rubbed a hand over his face before continuing.  “The kids are fine, living with their mum. You know how it is.”

            “Yeah.” Julian turned his attention back to watching Sean, willing to let the conversation drop between them.

            “You know, it’s all right to be angry at your Dad. If anyone has a right, it’s you....” Ringo trailed off.

            “…But?” Julian prompted impatiently, disliking where the conversation was headed.

            Ringo looked almost startled.  “There’s no ‘but’.”

            Julian held an eyebrow aloft. “Uh-huh.”

            “There is no ‘but’!” Ringo insisted.

            “All right,” Julian conceded, letting a companionable silence fall between them once more.

            A moment passed. 

            “But—”

            “Ha! I knew it!” Julian gloated, shaking his head at the older man.

            Ringo rolled his eyes and waited a moment before continuing.  “ _But_ …he’s your dad. You can’t ignore him forever.”

            The familiar anger began to churn inside Julian’s stomach once again.  “Watch me,” he defied.

            Ringo sighed and let his head fall back against the bench.  “Jules….”

            “Don’t defend him.” Julian’s tone was clipped.

            “He’s not the best at dealing with things,” Ringo offered, diplomatically.

            “Ritch…” Julian warned, subconsciously leaning away and focusing all his attention back to the playground.

            “All right, I won’t mention him again.” Ringo didn’t want to spend the last of their time together arguing.

            “Thank you.” Julian tried to get his shoulders to relax again, attempting to reclaim the pleasant mood.

            Ringo looked around, desperate for something to break the awkwardness that had settled between them. “I want you to come visit sometime,” he blurted out without thought.

            “What?” Julian squinted at Ringo in confusion.

            Ringo slouched a little lower.  “Well, you never call, you never write, you never visit.  We only see you when Linda decides to invite us.  Keep this up, and George and I’ll start thinking you don’t like us anymore.”  Ringo almost sounded embarrassed. 

            Julian’s confusion turned to bemusement.  “Of course I like you guys, I just didn’t want—...” He hesitated.

            “What?”

            Julian bit his lip before finishing.  “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

            “You’re not a bother,” Ringo insisted, as Julian knew he would - whether true or not.

            “I know,” Julian lied.

            Ringo looked at him sadly a moment before finally giving up.  “How much time do you have left?”

            “‘Bout an hour,” Julian answered after a glance at his watch.  “I should probably get back to the airport.” He stood stiffly, stretching to loosen his back after sitting so long.

            “Want us to come with you?” Ringo asked gruffly, knees cracking as he stood.

            Julian gestured at Sean to come back to the bench.  “I’d rather just say goodbye here, not draw it out...”

            Ringo pushed his hands into his coat pockets. “Your choice.”

            Reaching forward, Julian pulled Ringo into a hug.  “It really was nice to see you, short as it was,” he offered sincerely.

            “Yeah,” Ringo agreed, though the air was still tense with all the things left unsaid.

            Julian gave Ringo one last pat on the back before turning his attention to Sean.  He knelt in front of the little boy.  “I gotta go now, Kiddo.”

            A frown was rapidly becoming a permanent feature on Sean’s small face.  “I don’t want you to.”

            “I know, but it’s time.”

            “Will you call me?” Sean asked, his tone flat, as though he already knew the answer.

            “Definitely.”

            Sean’s expression didn’t change.  He just didn’t believe Julian.

            “Actually, I got you something.”  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small business card.

            “Oh?” Sean was unenthused.

            “See these numbers on the back here?” Julian pointed out the numbers, hastily scrawled in red ink.  “If you dial this into the phone, you can call me in England.”

            Face suddenly coming alive, Sean reached for the card with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. “Really?” he asked, carefully clutching the card in his fingers.

            “Yup,” Julian grinned, relishing Sean’s reaction. “Just remember that time is different in England, so you can’t call after supper...who knows, maybe when you’re older, you could even come visit.”

            Sean threw himself at Julian, wrapping his small arms around Julian’s neck.  “Thank you!” He screamed, shaking with excitement.

            Rocking him back and forth a few times, Julian finally pulled away and stood.  “You be good.” He ruffled Sean’s hair once for good measure.  Turning to look up at Ringo once more, he added, “Give my regards to George.”

            Ringo nodded.

            Julian looked at them for another moment before walking away.  He paused at the edge of the park and looked back, waving one last time before he disappeared into the crowd.

 

            George came up behind John, stepping heavily so as not to startle him and send him tumbling over the edge of the roof.  “So, are you done being a prick yet?” He asked as he sat himself down, hanging one leg over the edge of the building.

            John snorted, looking at his friend.  “Terribly sorry, good sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered in an overly posh tone.

            “Of course,” George huffed, taking a cigarette before passing the pack to John.  “You’ve been just an angel to deal with.  I’m sure all those insults you’ve been spewing were just an effort to impress us all with your intellect.”

            “Of course,” John agreed, with the barest hint of a smile.

            “And yelling at Jules was just your way of expressing your love and concern.”  The conversation was beginning to take a dark turn.

            A look, very much like guilt, crossed John’s face.  He swallowed but didn’t answer. 

            “And punching the boy: classic.”  There was no mistaking the anger in George’s words. 

            John buried his face in his hands, as though attempting to hide from the world.  “My wife just died.” He sounded lost.

            George looked away from his friend, toward the city that had so captivated them in their youth.  “I know....which is why I didn’t beat the ever-loving shit out of you.”  His tone softened minutely, tempered with resignation.

            “Like you could,” John ventured, trying to draw some playfulness out of his friend. 

            “You think I couldn’t?” A slight curiosity in an otherwise numb response.

            “Not with those chicken arms, you couldn’t.”

            George snorted, but the effect was hollow, the camaraderie superficial at best. 

            A silence descended between them, so deafening that not even the sounds of New York city could fill it.

            “It was Sean that changed the baby’s name,” John murmured, finally breaking the silence. “I saw a clip of it on the news.”

            “I figured as much.” George shrugged, flicking some ash over the side of the building.

            John looked at him in surprise.  “How’d you know?”

            “It’s not like the baby’s name really has any impact on Jules’ life, is it?  Why would he bother?”

            John pulled a leg up to his chest and wrapped his arms around it.  “It all seemed to make perfect sense when it was happening.”

            “Bullshit.” George felt resentment begin to simmer under the surface.  “You were just pissed at the world and were begging for a reason to start a fight.  I wouldn’t rise to your baiting, neither would Ringo, so you decided to try Jules.  It just didn’t occur to you that the boy would walk out instead of dealing with your shit.”

            “Fuck you.” John lips edged into an angry scowl.  “My wife is fucking _dead_.”

            “Yeah, your wife is dead” George answered, this time without sympathy.  “Your wife is dead and you’ve been using that as an excuse to be a little shit.  I’m glad Jules walked out; it’s about time someone did.  For as long as I’ve known you, people have excused your behaviour.  ‘Oh, that’s just John being John’, ‘Oh poor John, his mother died’, ‘Excuse John, he didn’t have a proper family’, ‘Just ignore John, he’s just in one of his moods’.  Well, fuck that. You can’t go around treating everyone like shit and expecting people to just go along with it.”

            “Paul never went along with it,” John countered, angrily throwing his cigarette over the side.

            “Oh, please,” George scoffed.  “Paul was the worst of them all.  John, you tried to fucking punch his pregnant wife and he found a way to excuse it.  Had anyone tried to punch your pregnant wife, the lot of us would have been burying the poor sap in a shallow grave behind the studio;  so don’t give me that shit.”

            “What do you want from me?” John demanded, moving to stand.  “You want me to say ‘I’m sorry’?  Well I’m sorry. I’m sorry my wife died and I’m a little upset.” He spat.

            “I’m sorry Yoko is dead.  I truly am.  Frankly, the woman would have had to have been a fucking saint to put up with you.” George stood as well, crowding into John’s space. “Jules came here because he loves you. He came here because he was worried about you, and what do you do? You barely speak to him and then you hit him.  That behaviour is unacceptable, and I’m not going to sit here and say that it’s okay because you lost your fucking wife.”

            “Jules came here to fucking gloat.”

            For a moment, George’s shock completely overpowered his anger. “What?”

            John’s eyes were wild, as he gestured out towards the ocean, towards England.  “Jules never liked me.  It was always Paul this, and Paul that.  Paul was so much more fun, Paul never lost his fucking temper. Now Jules is a fucking honourary McCartney and he wanted to rub it in my face that he’s managed to land himself this fucking perfect family while I lost fucking everything!”

            George gaped, his mouth hanging loosely.  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

            “Don’t be so naive. Jules has wanted to be rid of me since he was a fucking child.”

            “Jules was desperate for your attention and you always ignored him, so don’t start blaming him because you were a shit father.” The anger was back, powering every accusation.

            “I’m a great fucking father, Sean’s turning out great.”

            George sneered. “Yeah, so great that he didn’t seem a bit surprised to see you banging down the door trying to attack Jules. Great parenting skills you’ve got.”

            “Fuck you!”  John’s rage was evolving into desperation.  “I’m a good father.  I love my boys. Both of them!”

            “Do you?” George’s voice was turning cold, deadly.  “Do you really?  Or are you just saying that because you can’t stand the fact that you might actually be a worse parent then both of yours combined.”

            John stared at George, his face twisted in anger but his eyes filling with tears.  He sucked in a harsh breath, jaw clenching as if to contain the onslaught of emotion that was rapidly overtaking him.  “Fuck you,” he ground out through clenched teeth, desperate to keep himself from flying apart at the seams. “My wife just died.” He choked on the words.

            George looked away with something akin to regret. “I know.”

 

The airport was crowded when Julian landed.  Of course, airports were always crowded so it wasn’t particularly surprising.  It was still annoying to be jostled by the crowd though.  Weariness was weighing him down as he pushed his way forward toward the baggage claim.

            All around him, people were hugging their loved ones, waving frantically over the crowds, just so happy to be together.  In that moment, Julian hated them all.

            Angrily, he pulled his bag off the track and began to stalk towards the door.  He just needed a good night’s sleep.

            “About time you landed,” a voice said, off to his right. She didn’t sound nearly as annoyed as her words implied.

            A small smile graced Julian’s lips, which he forced away before turning to face her with a practiced nonchalance. 

“Heather.” He crossed his arms.  “I thought you were cross with me.”

            Mimicking Julian’s stance, Heather meandered forward at a leisurely pace.  “Well, mum phoned and said you slagged off your dad and stormed all the way out of New York...” Her voice made no secret of her amusement, her lips twisted into a smirk.  “Well done,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

            Julian offered a small bow.  “I aim to please.”

            “Besides…” Heather let her arms drop when she was within reach of Jules.  “There are things more important than being angry, right?” With that, she dropped the mask of unconcern and all that was left was her worry. 

            It was that look which finally broke Julian’s resolve.  He wrapped his shaking arms around her, squeezing tightly as though trying to tell her everything through touch alone.

            Heather responded in kind, holding him with equal strength. “I’m sorry things didn’t go well with your dad,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I know how much it meant to you.”

            Julian felt his eyes warm, but no tears fell. He was struggling to breathe, but every breath smelled of vanilla and cinnamon – of her. Of home.

            Heather just rubbed his back and let him hold her until he was ready to let go.

            Slowly his shaking subsided.  He loosened his grip from around her, and lowered his hands to take hers. “Thank you so much for coming.”  His voice was heavy, full of all the things which could not be put into words.

            Heather smiled, squeezing his hands. “Hey. It’s you and me against the world, right?”

            “Right,” Julian breathed, feeling lighter than he had in months.  Draping an arm loosely around her shoulder, he turned toward the exit.  “Ready to go?”

            She lifted her hand and twined her fingers with his. “Let’s go home.”

            “Hey, Jules?” She asked suddenly, as they were walking. 

            “Yeah?”

            “What happened to your face?”

            Julian didn’t answer.  He just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

He was home, he was loved, and he was free.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the RPF big bang challenge, but it is actually meant to me part of a much larger work which I will finish at a later date. So what is written here, despite being capable of standing alone, is actually only a glimpse of that wider universe.


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